Concordance
by SgtMac
Summary: After suffering a head injury during the Final Battle with Cora, Regina finds herself jumping between who she is in the world she knows and who she in different worlds. If she's going to survive this experience with her mind intact, she'll need help to pull everything together, and figure out who she really is. SQ. Semi-graphic.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Just something that I've been playing around with in my head for a bit. Not sure of the length on this yet. **

**Should be roughly canonical up to about 2.12, but this piece will ignore the Gold/Emma trip as neither Neal nor Bae will factor.**

**Be forewarned - the scene at the end contains possible dub-con. There's violence, language and semi-graphic f/f involvement within.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Concordance: (n) Agreement.**

"Go then, there are other worlds than these."

-Jake Chambers, _The Dark Tower: The Gunslinger by Stephen King_

* * *

"So what's the plan?" the blonde woman asks as she crouches down next to the rest of the group, the thick canvas material of her beige colored men's cargos scrunching up a bit and tenting slightly at the crotch. The pants belong to David, which means that they're entirely too big for her by several inches, but they're comfortable, and easy to move in, and right now, that's something.

It's rather a shame, then, that the pants are already torn and covered in blood.

"We can't absorb any more losses. We need to end this," David says softly, and between coughs. He's been in the middle of this fight for the last three days; God only knows how much smoke and debris he's pulled into his lungs. He's pale and a bit sweaty, but like the heroic warrior that he's fashioned himself into, he's holding strong and stalwart. Everyone assembled knows for sure that he'll fight as long as he can draw breath, and then perhaps for a few minutes after that.

Emma nods. "I think we can all agree on that. The question is how?"

"We need a direct attack," Snow answers, her hand reaching out to lightly clap David on the back as he coughs once more. Her fingers settle there, tracing a tender line across the fabric of his gray shirt. It's as torn and as bloody as Emma's cargo pants are, but no one speaks of this.

Not yet anyway. There will be time for that later, assuming anyone lives. So far, the fatalities have been minimal, but the casualties are many. The longer this battle goes on, the more the body count is likely to increase as Cora wears thin of playing with her food. What she wants isn't death; she's made it clear that demands domination and control over Storybrooke and will take it by any means necessary. Death isn't required, but she won't lose sleep over those lost.

"Every time we've tried that, she's seen us coming," Red protests, her eyes flickering outwards, towards the street. They're huddled together in the ruins of Granny's diner, chairs and tables upended around them. Glass litters the ground, and a singular frying pan lies dented on its side a few feet away from the group. She frowns a bit as she sniffs the air, smelling something more than just the tang of blood and iron that she's been getting frequent whiffs of over the last few days.

What she smells is familiar…

"So we make a deal with Gold for help, then," Emma states. She sees the wary looks from the others, and nods her head. "I know. I get it; deals made with him always end up badly, but what choice do we have? We can't defeat her."

"But I can."

They hear the voice before they see the speaker. Hardly matters, though, because each person in the diner would know that particular throaty rumble anywhere. "Regina," Emma announces, eyes focused on the purple smoke as it appears, spreads, and then dissipates leaving behind an exhausted looking woman, who is somehow still dressed impeccably. Even in the middle of war.

David is up on his feet immediately, his sword pointed at the former queen. "Not another step," he warns. "Or I'll put this through you."

"Put it down," Regina growls out, her gaze equal parts disgusted and annoyed.

"I'll die first," he answers, a slight tremor to his voice.

"If you don't put it down, you will," the brunette snaps back. Her eyes flicker over to Emma, as if to ask her to reason with her father. She knows that asking Emma to help disarm David is an absurd request, but she hopes that the blonde will recognize this meeting for the opportunity that it is.

Thankfully, she does. "David…Dad," Emma says.

He looks at her, then at Snow. His wife's expression is confused, and uncertain, but clearly, she chooses to trust her daughters' instincts in regards to the woman standing across from them; Emma had been right before, and had they all listened to her then, perhaps none of this would be happening now.

"What are you doing here, Regina?" Snow asks. Out of the corner of her eye, Regina sees David lower his sword. Just a bit; enough to symbolize the removal of the immediate threat, but not the long-term one. "Have you come to let us all know you've won?"

"You think this is winning, Snow?"

"Isn't it? You and your mother have destroyed this town."

"This is my town!" Regina growls back, her eyes flashing a brilliant deep purple. "I built it from scratch. I…you think I want…" she stops then, taking a deep ragged breath as she tries to control herself. "I didn't want this. I never wanted this." She waves her hands in the air. "I've done everything I can to minimize the damage, but I can't control her…I…"

"Then what do you want?" Emma queries, standing up. She takes a tentative step towards the brunette, squeezing David's forearm as she slides past him.

"I want exactly what you want. I want to stop her."

"You'd kill your own mother?" Red asks, no doubt thinking about a time when she had done exactly that. "To protect this town?"

"Were it possible to kill my mother, then, yes," Regina says, but if her tone is confident and unemotional, her turbulent dark eyes betray her as they have always done. She's tired and worn down, a fighter who wants nothing more than to lay down her gloves and fight no more.

"Why?" Snow presses. "Why would you help us? You hate us."

"I…" her eyes flicker over to Emma once more, and she stops abruptly, and shakes her head. "Does it matter? Do we actually have time for this?"

"We don't," Emma confirms, and it feels a bit like the blonde is once again coming to the Evil Queen's rescue; saving her from having to make confessions that she's not yet ready for. "So what do you have in mind, Regina?"

The former queen glances out the window, as if looking for her mother. That's the truth of it, though; she's always looking for Cora. Always wondering when punishment will come and when she'll be once again reminded of who she really is. As Emma had said on the walkway – who she will always be.

"Ruby, can you stand guard outside and let us know if you feel or…smell Cora approaching?" Emma asks suddenly, her lips drawn tight as she studies the dark haired woman standing in front of her.

"That's not necessary," Regina says softly. "I'll be able to feel her."

"Just the same," Emma answers, eyes locking on Regina's. The older woman gets the distinct impression that the sheriff if trying to extend support to her right now. It's ill deserved, Regina thinks, but certainly appreciated.

"Course, Em," Red nods, then slips out the door leaving Regina with just the Charming family. Perhaps as it should have always been, anyway.

"So," Emma prompts again after a moment. "Your plan?"

"So…my plan is that we change places."

"Excuse me?"

"My mother is an extremely powerful woman. You know this already. Her magic is well beyond my own and mine is…considerable. It's well beyond Gold's as well. Together, he and I could possibly subdue her, but we could never stop her. And with her heart hidden wherever it is, killing her isn't really an option, either."

"We could behead her," David says, blue eyes unwavering as he stares back at Regina. She's unable to stop herself from flinching slightly at his words, but before he can speak to the reaction, she steels herself anew.

"You could, yes," she nods. "But she's a powerful witch, and unless you think you have the stomach to chop her into a hundred pieces and bury her in a hundred different places, then perhaps we should speak of containment instead."

"Wait…wait…you're kidding, right?" Emma asks, looking vaguely queasy. One would think after all she's seen over the last few days that her stomach would have solidified a bit, but apparently, that's not the case at all.

"About which part?"

"The…chopping and burying part."

"No. Witches like my mother are virtually unkillable. Especially when their heart is protected elsewhere. As long as that organ beats healthy and safe somewhere, the possibility of resurrection is always there. The best way to combat that is to separate the witch into as many pieces as possible and bury them far enough away from each other that reunification of the body becomes…difficult."

"Jesus," Emma mutters.

"Quite," Regina nods. "Which again brings us back to containment. Did your little men ever finish the cage they were building for me, Snow?"

The younger woman looks surprised for a moment. "You knew about that?"

"Of course, I did. I'm not who I once was, Snow. I see the things happening around me with more clarity than I used to." It's a cryptic statement, but before anyone can press her on it, Regina asks again, "Is the cage ready for use?"

"It is, but we had no way to get you into it. How could we get her in it?"

"That's where the switching places part comes into play. I remembered Blue's trick with the fairy dust. From the moment I realized that you'd lured me into another trap, I knew that you would try it again. My mother has never seen it before. She'll be susceptible to it for at least as long as it takes to imprison her."

"So you're saying you need fairy dust?" David asks, eyebrow jumping up into his hairline. "Do you really think we're that stupid?"

"Perhaps not the best question to ask, dear," Regina retorts. Then, with an almost resigned sigh, "That said, you have nothing to fear from me in that regard. My magic isn't compatible with fairy magic. I can contain it as I did at the well, but I can't weld it or focus it. We needed a wand for that before. Emma doesn't."

Snow seems to understand first. She steps forward and motioning with her hand out, one finger extended, exclaims, "No. Absolutely not."

"It's our best chance," Regina says softly, like she's talking to Henry. She shakes her head, then. "It's our only chance, Snow. I may not what this town to burn, but my mother does. She doesn't care how many people have to die to make it happen. She doesn't care if there are no people left. Do you understand me? This is our only chance. Emma is our only chance here."

"Okay, what the hell am I missing?" Emma demands, moving so that she's between her mother and Regina. She's clearly trying to force the former queen to speak to her and her alone. Understandable considering all the times that her life has been decided for her. Understandable that Emma intends for that to never occur again. At least not if she has any say in it.

"She wants you to be the one to try to trap Cora with the fairy magic," Snow replies bitterly. "She wants you to walk into the belly of the beast."

"Wouldn't she see that coming from a mile away?"

"She would, which is why you and I need to swap bodies," Regina tells her.

"What? As in I'd be you and you'd be me?"

"Not exactly. More as in, you'd look like me and I'd look like you. It'd be a simple glamour. Nothing more. Just enough to get you close to my mother."

"Okay, even assuming I agree to this, don't you think Cora will know that it's not you? We don't walk or talk or do anything alike, Regina."

"Absolutely true, Miss Swan, and were you agreeing to have lunch with my mother, that might be a problem. However, as all you need to do is get close enough to hit her with a blast of fairy dust, it shouldn't be an issue. Unless, of course, you plan to slouch your way towards her as you normally do."

"That wasn't really called for."

Regina shrugs her shoulders. Perhaps not, but damned if it didn't feel good. That not a person in this room seems to understand what she's sacrificing – the betrayal which she's willing to engage in – isn't lost on her. She'll do this because it's what must be done, but she has no desire to play nice in the meanwhile.

"Okay, two questions," Snow starts. "Blue's been missing in action – presumed dead - since day one so where would we get the fairy dust from?"

"Well, first, I don't believe your insipid fairy friend is actually dead. Where she is, I don't know, but I can still feel her energy. She's alive. Second, you'll need to make a deal with Gold, as you had been speaking of doing before I cut in. He still has enough fairy magic contained in the wand that he stole to be able to provide you with what you'll need. It'll cost something, of course; because it's Gold and he's an asshole, but considering the fact that he wants Cora gone as much as all of you do, and considering that he knows that she'll come for him after she's finished off this town, he's likely to be more reasonable than usual."

Snow nods at this. "Fine. Why do you need to look like Emma? I get her looking like you in order to get close to Cora. I hate the idea and I'm against it with everything inside of me, but I get it. Why do you need to be her?"

"To distract my mother. Miss Swan is right; my mother knows me well enough to know if something is off. And if she could focus completely on me, she'd be able to see right through the glamour. However, there's one person in this town besides myself that she has an…unusual and not quite healthy interest in."

"Me? Why me?" Emma queries, eyebrow lifted in confusion.

"She couldn't take your heart. You defeated her. That's power. In her eyes, anything or anyone that has more power than she does must be destroyed."

"Fantastic. So what do you plan to do while you look like me?"

"Draw her fire. I obviously can't fight her with magic; she'll know what we've done if I try, but I can run around like an idiot like you do just long enough, I think."

"Again, not really called for."

"Apologies."

Emma rolls her eyes at the terrible attempt at such.

"What if she goes for your heart?" Snow asks, and perhaps there's a hint of worry in the tone. Her eyes are wide and curious, but there's conflict there, too. "Emma is immune, but you're not."

"I don't plan to get close enough for that to happen, but if she does…"

"She could kill you," David states.

"She could. However, were that to happen, I think it'd hardly matter because it would mean that either Miss Swan had failed or you chose to let her kill me."

"I wouldn't…" Emma starts.

"Enough. Time is short, and I've been gone too long already. My mother is having fun lighting things on fire and trying to generally piss people off, but her patience is waning quickly. Eventually, she's going to want to start killing, and when she does, she'll want me at her side. Which means you need to go see Gold. Now. This has to happen now."

"What will you do while we're dealing with Gold?" Emma asks.

"Keep an eye on my mother. Make sure she stays calm for a little while longer."

"Why should we trust you?" David asks. Almost before the words are completely out, he coughs again, the sound harsh and pained. He bends forward, squeezing his eyes together tightly, a trembling hand settling on his knee.

"You're hurt," Regina says, ignoring his question.

"I'm fine."

"Of course you are," comes the sarcastic response. "And I'm sure your family will love burying you when you fall dead from a collapsed lung." She moves forward then, stepping into his personal space, and ignoring the protests she hears from everyone else in the room. She settles a palm on his back – near to where Snow's hand is – and closes her eyes. Almost immediately, a soft purple glow emits from her hand. It seeps into David's skin, and then spreads out.

"What are you doing? Stop!" Snow demands, reaching for Regina's hand. She's stopped by one of Emma's.

"Let her," Emma says. "She's trying to help him."

"You don't know that."

"I do."

If Regina hears any of this, she shows no sign of it. She simply focuses on the energy bleeding out of her and into David. She's never been especially skilled at healing; it was never an art that any of her teachers had thought would be terribly useful for her (or them) and so repairing injuries comes painfully to her.

After a few moments, though, the pain – like electrical sparks flying up and down her skin – lets up. "Breathe," she tells David, her voice very low.

He obeys, and is rewarded with easy untroubled breaths. "You healed me."

"Don't make more of it than it is," she answers, opening her eyes. "My son loves you. My feelings come second to that. He'd be heartbroken if you died." She turns to Emma, then. "Make the deal with Gold. You have one hour."

"You didn't answer the question," David reminds her. "Why should we trust you?"

"Because none of us have any choice but to trust each other," Regina answers.

Emma nods at this. "Where will we meet?"

"Here. I'll be here."

And with that, she's gone, a swirl of purple smoke in her wake. That she doesn't actually leave the room yet is her secret (she's suddenly quite thankful that Red is outside; she's certain that the wolf had smelled her previously). She loiters in the air for a few moments, listening, ensuring that everyone is in alignment.

"This is madness," David says almost immediately, a hand settled on his chest. He's clearly feeling around for the pain that has been there for the last few days, but there's nothing there that shouldn't be. He feels good. It's an oddly unsteadying turn of events, one that he's unsure of how to come to terms with.

"It is," Snow agrees, her tone thoughtful. "Emma, what's your instinct on this?"

"She's telling the truth," Emma answers immediately, lifting her chin up to reinforce her determination and confidence in her words. "For whatever reason, whether it's Henry or something else, she's going to help us defeat Cora."

"Then we need to find Gold."

* * *

It's just a little bit over an hour later when the Charming family finally returns to the diner. Red isn't with them anymore – having gone off to check on Granny and the others. Regina's waiting for them when they arrive, pacing the broken floor.

She hears Emma say to David and Snow, "Let me handle this, okay?"

"Are you sure?" Snow asks. "She looks like she's on edge."

Regina considers letting them know that, yes, she can hear them, but ultimately holds her tongue and continues pacing. She hears Emma confirm that she'll take care of things, and then the door is opening and the blonde is entering.

"Well?" the former queen demands, snapping around on her absurdly high heels.

"Good to see you, too, Regina," Emma chuckles.

"Miss Swan, I know you have a need to be as obnoxious as possible at all times, but for once, can you try to focus on what's actually important."

"Believe it or not, I always focus on what's important. It's just that you and I have radically different ideas of what that is."

"So we do. On this, though, I believe we are in agreement, yes?"

"Yes. And yes, Gold gave me the magic," Emma answers. It's then that Regina notices how unsteady the younger woman looks. Perhaps even queasy.

"Are you seeing colors?" Regina asks, her lips quirked in a strange mixture of curiosity and amusement. She remembers back to one or two of the times that Rumple had forced her to absorb fairy magic in order to understand its effects.

Those had been…interesting days.

"A few."

"To be expected. Fairy dust is much like this worlds' version of…"

"Psychedelic mushrooms?"

"I take it you have intimate knowledge of such," Regina quips. She knows that the timing of such levity is poor, but with as rattled as her nerves are right now, she welcomes the opportunity for even the slightest bit of back and forth.

"I never said I was a good girl before I came to town," Emma answers with a smile that is half smug and self-conscious and uncertain. For not the first time, Regina is struck by just how alike the two of them are at times.

"I suppose that's my fault as well?"

"Partially," Emma shrugs. "But I made my own choices, too. I'm responsible for those. Good or bad." She meets Regina's eyes when she says this.

"How very noble of you," the brunette drawls. "All right, then, now that you have the necessary magic, we can work on the rest of things. You understand what you have to do once the glamour is in place, I assume?"

"Walk up to your mother, wait for her to be distracted and then nail her with the fairy dust bomb. Check, check and check, right?"

"Stated with all the eloquence of a five year old, but yes, more or less accurate. Say as little as possible. I'll be doing everything I can to distract her, but the more you speak, the more chance she'll have to know that something is afoot."

"Yeah, definitely, because I'd never say the word 'afoot'," Emma cracks.

"Too many letters?"

"Funny. You know, Regina, perhaps if you'd spent more time being funny and less time being homicidal, we wouldn't be in this situation."

Regina smiles sadly at this. "That suggests that my life has ever been my own to decide upon," she answers.

"No doubt; you got a bad deal. We both did. But what about all of the bad choices that you've made in the meanwhile? I take responsibility for mine. What about you? Can you really say that every thing you did was someone else's fault?"

"No, I can't. And whether you or anyone else believes it, I'm trying to take responsibility and make amends now. I've been trying."

"For Henry?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yeah, I think it does. Ultimately, you can only change who you are if you're the one who really want to be someone different." She tilts her head. "But then, you've pretty much always wanted to be someone else, haven't you?" When Regina doesn't answer after a moment, Emma offers up what she desperately hopes sounds like support and not pity, "I know the feeling."

"Hmm," Regina answers thoughtfully. Then, with an almost sad and defeated shrug of her shoulders, "In a different world, Miss Swan."

"In a different world what?"

"Who knows what we might have been."

Emma's brow furrows at this. "To each other or…at all?"

Regina chuckles in response, but provides no further elaboration. Instead "Hold still; this might tingle a bit."

"Tingle? Why?"

"Must you ask so many tiresome questions?"

"Yes, I must. You're acting weird…even for you."

"Perhaps you don't know me as well as you think you do. Now, if you'd be quiet for a few moments, I need to map your body out."

"Map my body out?"

Regina sighs. "If I'm going to imitate your body, I need to…touch you. And I swear, Miss Swan, if you repeat any part of what I just said…"

"You'll turn me into a frog?"

"A frog is too good for you."

"True," Emma acknowledges. "On the other hand, they changed the story so that it was a Frog Princess instead of –"

"Shut up."

"Right. Map away, Your Majesty." She closes her eyes.

Frowning slightly, Regina moves forward. She places each of her hands very lightly on Emma's sides, starting at the end. She glides them downward, her touch almost unbearably gentle. She kneels as her palms slide over the blonde's thighs, fingertips caressing muscle. After a few seconds, she says, "I'm done."

Emma opens her eyes and blinks. Standing in front of her is a perfect clone of herself, all the way down to the clothes. The posture is completely wrong, and the strangely regal scowl her doppelganger is wearing is more than little bit disconcerting, but otherwise, Regina looks exactly like the blonde sheriff.

"You're me," Emma says, slightly awestruck. "Damn."

"Yes, damn," Regina answers dryly, and Emma's somewhat surprised to hear the brunette's voice coming out of her mouth.

"But you still sound like yourself."

"Right. Hold still." Regina puts her hand forward, and lightly runs her fingers over Emma's throat. It's insanely intimate gesture, and for a moment, Emma panics because damned if it wouldn't be so easy for Regina to kill her right now.

Just a little flick.

But then the brunette who looks like Emma pulls back. "Better?" she asks and now she sounds just like the blonde sheriff.

"Yeah. That's kind of freaky, actually."

"I know. Your turn."

"Do I have to do the map thing?"

Regina laughs at this; an oddly fantastic sound of true humor. "No, Miss Swan, I have a pretty good idea what my body feels like."

"Right. Of course. So, uh, maybe since you're going to be and I'm going to be you for a few minutes, you can drop the Miss Swan thing?"

"Does it annoy you?"

"Yes,"

"Then, no."

Emma simply rolls her eyes at this, but she'd by lying if she didn't admit to at least the smallest of smiles.

* * *

The worst part of all of this is having to stand back with David and Snow as Emma – looking like Regina now – leaves the diner to go find Cora.

They know where she is, of course; the Queen of Hearts is holding court in the middle of town. It's where she is right now, just waiting for the final confrontation.

Cora's been waiting for the final battle for days now. She's been on guard expecting one last strike. One last attempt to overthrow her. Once that's over, the older woman plans to take out Rumple and then bend any of the survivors to her will. There will be no mercy, of course; vengeance will be the order of the day.

Which is why this has to succeed.

Because even Henry will be sacrificed at the alter of vengeance and power if Cora believes that to be what needs to occur in order to solidify her control.

Especially if that's what it takes to control her daughter.

They follow Emma as she makes her way into town, and then watch from a distance as the blonde approaches Cora. She's moving slowly, with a slight limp. It's meant to disguise the obvious differences in the way the two women walk. Thankfully, though Emma knows how to work well in heels so she doesn't look too terribly off as she moves to stand with the Queen of Hearts.

"It's time," Regina says, speaking to both David and Snow. She turns to look at them. "If all goes well, this will be over quickly. If it doesn't, you need to get Emma the hell out of there as quickly as possible. My mother may not be able to take her heart, but there are still unthinkable things that she can do to her."

"And you?" Snow asks. "What will she do to you?"

"If this fails, I don't think my mother will forgive me a third attempt at her life," Regina chuckles. "So, then, it's quite important that it doesn't. Let's hope that your daughter is as blessed with your luck as the two of you are."

There's a hint of envy in the tone, but it fades away quickly enough.

"I heard what you said to Emma," Snow says.

"Which part?"

"About different worlds. About what the two of you might have been there."

"Ah."

"Aren't we the same?" Snow asks. "In a different world where our whole lives hadn't been manipulated, maybe…"

"We'll never know," Regina answers shortly. It's one thing to consider the similarities between she and Emma; regardless of who is responsible, both she and Emma have been through experiences that would likely bond them anywhere else but here. She and Snow, on the other hand, were never meant to come into each other's orbit. And now, as she thinks about betraying her mother once more, it's oddly difficult to forgive the accidental betrayal of a child.

She wonders if maybe, when this is all over, if she can find a way to that. Because Emma is right: she does want to be a different person. A better one.

"Right," Snow nods, retreating quickly from the conversation. "Good luck."

Regina takes a deep breath, picks up David's absurdly heavy sword and then walks into the middle of town, ensuring that she can be seen by both her mother and Emma. She moves slower than usual, tries to saunter more than swagger. The wildly oversized pants that she's wearing help with that a little bit, she thinks. That is until she just about trips over the cuff of one of the legs and almost does a spectacular face plant.

She wonders if she looks like she's drunk. On the other hand, she muses, she probably just looks like a typical Charming.

"Cora," she calls out, her chin up. She thinks _defiance_ and hopes it shows.

Turns out that her sudden arrival is a good thing; Cora's eyes are on Emma, and her brow is furrowed like something is bothering her. Like something about her daughter isn't quite as it should be. Just as she's about to touch Emma, though, she hears her name, and her head snaps around. "Savior," she purrs.

"I'm right here," Regina answers, hearing Emma's voice spill from her lips.

"Alone, dear girl?" Cora asks with a raised eyebrow and a superior smirk. She turns her head slightly towards Emma. "Astonishing, daughter, that you haven't been able to kill her; she's quite the fool coming to face us all by herself."

Regina almost laughs when she sees the surprised look shoot across her own face as Emma struggles to come up with a suitable response. Instead, not trusting the blonde to hold her tongue as she should, Regina draws Cora's attention back to her. "I'm never alone," she states.

"Ah. So your dear family is nearby. Of course." She looks at the sword. "Tell me, what is it that you plan to do what that sword? Against my magic."

"I plan to kill you with it."

Cora laughs, the sound indignant. "It's a sword, girl. By the time you've finished your first swing, I'll have turned you into a bug and stepped on you."

She sees Emma once again open her mouth to reply, but thankfully, the blonde disguised as a brunette clamps her jaws closed again.

"If you could have done that, you would have already," Regina states. It's taking every bit of concentration she has to remember how to sound like Emma. It's not the vocal sound that's important here; it's the cadence and the dance of her words. Emma is defiant and sloppy. She's maddeningly blunt and without class.

She's honest in a way that Regina can only envy.

"True enough," Cora nods. "But I can still kill you in my own way." She shoves out her hands and sends a streak of bright blue light directly at the woman she thinks is Emma. It strikes Regina hard on the side, sending her knees.

She sees Emma move, and frantically shakes her head. Not yet, she thinks.

"What, dear?" Cora taunts as she steps towards the fallen woman. Behind her, Emma lurks, but there's not enough distance yet to be able to throw the fairy dust bomb and have it work. "Didn't like that? Have to shake a few cobwebs loose?"

"Felt kind of like being tickled," Regina grits back. It sounds exactly like something Emma would respond with, and she finds herself stupidly annoyed to have said the words herself, no matter how accurate they are to the blonde.

"Oh, then let me relieve you of that annoyance," Cora sneers and steps forward once more, hands again outstretched. The energy surge this time is much stronger, and immediately, Regina knows that she'll need to time her dodge better or else she could easily be knocked unconscious by the power received.

Unfortunately, just as she's about to move, she sees Emma put a hand out – a glowing ball of blue sparkling there. It's the right thing for Emma to do, but the distraction is unexpected, and it throws her timing terribly off.

She feels herself get lifted by the surge of energy from her mother. It's a weird sensation to be in the air and moving at a high speed. She's been hoisted before by Cora, but never thrown. This time, she's falling backwards rapidly.

She hears someone scream her name – her real name – but she doesn't think much of it. She also doesn't think much of the howls of fury she hears.

All she focuses is on how she continues to move through the air. How it seems like it's taking so damned long for her to hit the ground.

But it's not the ground she hits; it's the windshield of a car.

She hears the sickening crack before she feels the actual impact of her head slamming violently against bent metal and shattered glass. There's a horrendous stabbing pain behind her eyes, and then a bright flash of red light.

After that, everything goes terribly dark.

* * *

She feels the pressure before she sees anything. Everything is still dark and hazy, but she's suddenly aware of two things:

One – _someone_ is lying atop her, moving against her rapidly, their sweat-slicked body pressed against her own. Sliding back and forth.

Two – there's something _inside_ of her. _Thrusting_, her confused mind supplies.

"God," she hears, a voice whisper into her ear just before a tongue traces the shell there. And then again, "God. I love you."

She feels a hand run up her body, fingers pressing against her left breast. A thumb trails over her nipple, and in spite of her confusion, she gasps at the sensations she feels. She tries to force her eyes open, but a sharp pain behind her lids convinces her to keep them closed for the time being.

That is until she hears the voice again. "Regina," she hears it say.

It's just her name, but it's more than that. It's that she knows _that_ voice.

It belongs to _Emma Swan_.

Ignoring the flash of pain, she snaps her eyes open and looks up into the face of the blonde sheriff. The woman is moving atop her rapidly, her face showing both the strain of the constant movements as well as the pleasure of them.

It's then that Regina realizes that what's inside of her at the moment _is_ Emma. More precisely, it's her fingers. Which means that…right.

She barely has the time to allow her mind to realize what's occurring before everything explodes again. This time, though, it feels good. Her body feels good.

Like she's just…

Oh, God, indeed.

"Emma," she whispers, and if it sounds to the blonde woman like she's in awe, well that's partially accurate because Regina – feeling utterly and oddly boneless at the moment - can't for the life of her figure out what the hell has just happened.

She knows biologically, of course what she's just experienced, but that doesn't help to explain how or why or…

Or what the hell she's doing beneath this woman when just five minutes ago they'd been across from each on a battlefield trying to capture her mother in between them. She tries to remember what had happened, but everything after the blast of energy had thrown her into the air is a blank.

And somehow, she's here. Naked and in bed with Emma Swan.

An Emma Swan who has just brought her to a rather spectacular orgasm.

"Damn, you're beautiful when you do that," Emma gasps out, slowing her movements after a few seconds. She pulls her hand out, then, and much to her surprise, Regina feels both the absence of the blonde within her and then the moisture against her neck as Emma settles her hand there.

A moment later, Emma's face is against the opposite side of her neck, pressing kisses against the warm tanned flesh she finds there.

"I don't understand," Regina whispers, trying to shift herself away from the sheriff's body. She's held in place, though, by Emma's strong arms.

"Don't understand what?" Emma asks, lifting her head up. Her blue-green eyes are curious, and there's a strange easy smile on her face.

"I…"

"So you're saying I did good, huh?" Emma laughs. She drops her head back down and again presses her mouth against Regina's neck. "I like that."

"No…no…this is…get off me. Get off!" She puts her hands out as if to throw magic at Emma, but nothing happens.

"Whoa…what the hell?" Emma asks, pulling back. She slides away, allowing Regina to scamper out from beneath her. "Did you just try to light me up?"

"Who are you?" Regina demands. It's the only question that makes sense in her mind right now; this can't possibly be Emma Swan because they wouldn't be doing these things to each other. They wouldn't. So it has to a trick.

Only that doesn't make much sense, either…

Emma's shoulders set then, and her expression grows hard. "This had damn well better be some weird kind of roleplaying because otherwise, it's not funny."

"Who are you?" Regina grits out again.

"I'm Emma. Your wife."

That's all it takes for everything to explode behind her eyes again. This time, it's not one bit pleasurable. She gasps as she falls towards the darkness once more.

**TBC…**

* * *

**Post Note: ****For the mechanics of what Regina will be doing, think Quantum Leap. If you have any questions, feel free to ask them.**


	2. 1

A/N: Thank you so much for all the kind comments and the interest in this piece. It's a slow build up towards something deeper and more meaningful for SQ so I ask of your patience as I try to layer the pieces and set the stage. I promise you that I will deliver the goods :D

One thing that I do want to say - and apologize for - is the speed of my writing. I'm not a fast writer. Life and work get in the way. I'll try my best to give you two chapters a week until this girl is wrapped up, but I do - in advance - apologize for any delays.

Please be forewarned, there is minor - non graphic - violence in this chapter.

Again, thank you.

* * *

It's the strangest goddamned thing that Regina Mills has ever felt, and considering all that she has been through in her life, well that's saying something indeed. At first, there's the sensation of somehow – inexplicably – being completely liquid – like flowing water. It's actually a little bit like white water rapids rushing over jagged rocks if she had any idea what that might feel like. She's moving almost absurdly fast through – well whatever the hell she's moving through, and everything around her is just a blur of blacks and grays.

She'd try to take it in and understand it, but it's all going by too quickly.

And then there's nothing. Just stillness and silence. She's encased in sheets of complete darkness, both everywhere and nowhere all at once. It's all so deeply existential and yet it means absolutely nothing to her because her thoughts are little more than jagged fragments thrown into the air with haphazard care.

When color finally begins to seep back into her world, it does so slowly, like she's being poured slowly into a tall fragile glass. She sees blues and greens and reds, but they come to her in drips and drops like paint being tossed upon a canvas.

Sensation and actual flesh and blood feeling comes to her next. There's cool air against her cheek, and then the tension and soreness of muscles in use. The feeling of heavy exhaustion settles on her next, and she feels bone creak and pop as she moves her oddly unfamiliar feeling body.

She opens her dark eyes, and after a few labored blinks to allow more light in, she looks around, both surprised and relieved to find herself standing alone in an kitchen that isn't her own. Where she is, she has no idea. The last thing she remembers is standing across from Emma Swan. No longer in the middle of Storybrooke, Maine, but rather within a bedroom. Both of them had been naked and covered with the telltale signs of recent passionate lovemaking.

_"I'm Emma," the blonde had told her, green eyes flaring. "Your wife."_

Such a thing – such a reality - would be ridiculous, of course, but she finds that try as she might, she has no ability to explain what she'd just seen and felt.

Normally, Regina would be content to dismiss the bizarre events as just a delusion brought on by whatever injury she must have suffered in the battle with her mother, but Regina knows a thing or two about nightmares; the lovemaking between she and Emma had not only felt real, it'd been real. After forty years spent dreaming about a dead fiancée, she knows well the difference between a fantasy touch and an actual one, having often felt the caress of a caring lover in her sleep, but almost never during her waking hours. Whatever that had been, it'd been more than just a vision brought on by physical trauma.

Still, she'd prefer not to think too much on it because she's away from it now.

She's here.

Wherever the hell here is.

She glances around once more, frowning a bit. This place is familiar to her, and after a moment of thought, she realizes why: these are the kind of cottages that people in the old world lived in. The paupers and the peasants, anyway.

She looks down at her clothes. They're simple. Not ugly or shapeless, but hardly elegant nor sophisticated. She runs her fingers down the rough cloth, rubbing against the stitches and somewhat sloppy workmanship of the cotton garments. They look like what might happen if she'd been the one to sew them herself.

Which is interesting because she'd never actually been allowed by her mother to partake of such simple things like making her own clothes, and learning how to sew and rend. _Beneath you, Regina, Cora had always insisted. You're meant for more than such ordinary things. You're meant for greatness, my dear daughter._

"Should you be up, Mother?" she hears from the doorway of the cottage. The voice startles her, and for a moment she jumps, but as always, she pulls herself under control quickly, affixing a stoic mask across her face. She looks up to see a handsome young man standing in the doorway of the cottage. He's tall, at least six feet of height. His hair is brown, his eyes blue. He looks to be around thirty.

"Henry?" she asks with a bit of confusion. He doesn't look like what she would have assumed her son to grow up to look like, but she doesn't dwell long on this. Instead, she smiles at him, realizing that no matter the emotional turmoil that seeks to break her down, he will always bring joy to her wounded heart.

"Who's Henry?" the young man chuckles as he enters the room (which is really more of a food preparation table than an actual orderly kitchen). "Or do I actually want to know who this new friend of yours is, Mother?"

"You?" she stammers. "You're not…Henry?"

"Not today," he laughs. He comes up behind, loops an arm lightly around her waist, and kisses her on the cheek. It's tender and affectionate, and despite the fact that she has no idea who this man is, she finds herself drawn to him.

"I…I'm sorry," she stammers. "I'm just…"

He frowns, then. "You should still be in bed is what you should be," he scolds." His hand goes up to her forehead, and his palm settles there. "You're still warm."

"I…"

"Mother, you need to lie down or you're not going to get any better."

"Better?"

He rolls his eyes, and for a moment, she's again struck by the thought that he must be Henry because the bemused exasperated expression is so very much Emma. But the smile isn't. It's different, less mischievous. "Only you would try to pretend you're not sick after the fever you've had for the last week and a half."

"Fever, right," she mumbles. "I should…"

"Lie down," he finishes for her, his voice gentle and worried. Normally, she'd chafe against such, but she's suddenly overwhelmed by affection for this boy, and finds that any irritation she might have is being swallowed by adoration.

It's as inexplicable as Emma being atop her. Well, maybe not quite that inexplicable; making love to the woman who'd brought upon your downfall probably still wins first prize in the what the living hell was that sweepstakes.

"All right," she answers. Though a part of her is demanding that she ask for answers, frankly, lying down seems like a damned good idea right about now because she's not really sure what else to do, and she is feeling a bit...tired.

"Wow, the day you don't fight me. Never thought that'd come," the boy laughs. He swings his arm around her again, and cradles her close to his chest. The act is intimate, but not in any kind of sexual way (which considering that he'd called her "mother" is a damned good thing, she muses). He moves her almost gingerly towards the bed pushed up against the far wall of the single room cottage (she notices a ragged curtain hung over it, presumably for privacy). As they walk, she studies his face. He's familiar to her, and suddenly, she knows who he is.

"Daniel," she whispers.

"Well, at least you got my name right this time," he chuckles. "Though it's been years since you've called me that."

"Your name is Daniel, but you go by Danny," she says, more to herself than him. How she knows this, she's not at all sure. She just knows that she does know it.

"Okay, now I'm worried. Did you fall out of bed and strike your head?" he asks, turning her towards him, a hand on each of her shoulders. His expression is serious and intense, and again she's struck by a flood of emotion for him. He touches each side of her head, as if looking for a bruise or a bump. She chooses not to tell him that yes, her head is pounding like it's being struck by a hammer.

"No," she insists, placing her hands over his and moving them away. "I just…I guess I'm not thinking straight right now. You're right; I should lie down."

"Yeah, damn right. You've been pushing yourself too hard again," Danny scolds. "There's no reason for you to be up and on your feet so soon."

She smiles faintly. "I'm not good with inaction," she tells him, and at least this sounds vaguely like herself, she thinks.

Apparently, it sounds right to him as well because he nods. "I know you can. And even if you couldn't, you'd say you could. You're a stubborn ass, Mother."

"Not nice to call your mother names," she answers, unable to tear her eyes away from him. When she lifts her hand to touch the smooth slightly tanned skin of his cheek, she feels her heart soar when he doesn't pull away. In fact, he actually kisses her hand lightly, something she can only call adoration in his eyes.

"Yeah, well, then maybe you should stop being a stubborn ass," he replies as he lowers her down to her mattress. It's lumpy and uncomfortable, likely stuffed with straw instead of cotton or foam. "I want you to close your eyes and sleep."

"I don't need…"

"You do. You look like you're about to pass out. You probably put your recovery back a week. You know, from refusing to stay down and rest." He leans over and kisses herself on the forehead as he says this. "You stubborn ass."

"Go away," she drawls even though what she actually wants to say is exactly the opposite. Still, she knows that she needs a moment of solitude – even just a few seconds – to try to figure out just what the hell is going on here.

"Sleep," he commands again before stepping away. "I'll be back later. If I find that you've so much as moved a muscle…"

"You'll what, glare at me?" she teases. Again, the words just feel right. They feel easy and comfortable; everything about being with this boy does.

He laughs, shakes his head, and then turns and walks out of the little cottage, shutting the wooden door behind him. His absence stings her immediately. Without warning, she feels her heart seizes with love for him, and for a moment, she can barely breathe or think beneath the staggering intensity of the emotion.

Once her heartbeat begins to slow, and she's certain that he's completely gone, she stands up and looks around the cottage again. It doesn't take a lot for her to realize that somehow or another, she's back home, back in the old world.

The first question, of course, is how any of this is possible.

Another glance to the left and her eyes settle upon the dusty glass of a small mirror – one just big enough to view her face in. It's more ornamental than useful (she remembers, then, just how expensive mirrors had been – they'd been a toy of the rich, a vanity). Still, she moves towards it and looks at herself.

And immediately pulls up short, a gasp of surprise tearing from her lips.

Her reflection – what she sees in the mirror - is nothing short of shocking. The woman staring back at her is much older – closer to her actual age of sixty-two than her physical age of thirty-four. Her face is weathered and aged. She's tanned dark from the sun, and exhaustion and a life of hard work have beat a path of deep lines into her skin, but she looks oddly content.

Not quite happy, she thinks, but content.

She places her hand against the mirror, her bent and aged slightly arthritic fingers scraping the glass. And that's when the memories hit her.

_She and Daniel are on horses, moving quickly, laughing as they ride through a quickly changing landscape – each foot a little bit closer to freedom. This is madness, but she's never been happier. They're escaping…together._

_It's much later, and the moon is high upon in the star-filled night sky. They're lying together by a fire, naked and wrapped in each other's arms. Daniel leans towards her, kisses her jaw, and tells her he loves her. She feels her heart explode, and is unable to stop the tears. He pulls her even closer to him._

_They continue to run, barely evading soldier after soldier. It's a grand adventure, and though the threat of capture and death are strong, neither considers being anywhere but where they are. Each night is spent in each others' arms._

_She's sick. Sweaty and feverish. And with child. Daniel holds her, promises her forever. She's worried, but he tells her that everything is going to be fine. _

_He's wrong; the two men that find them still sleeping by the burnt-out fire are from a nearby town – they know that there's a handsome reward being offered for the return of these two traitors to the crown (she's been accused of witchcraft, he of treachery – nothing more is needed). Daniel comes to first, and shakes her awake. He buys her a few minutes of time by trying to make a deal with the men, but when it's clear that they just want money, he tells his wife to run. Protect our family, he says, tears running down his ashy cheeks. She screams that she won't leave him, but he begs her to go. Begs her to live. Take care of the child._

_She flees…but not far. When the two men descend on Daniel, he manages to knock down the first one, but the second one strikes her husband with the sharp side of his sword. He's aiming the blade towards Daniel's chest when she comes out of the trees, screaming and enraged. Magic tears from her hands, and just like that – the soldier is torn to pieces. His companion races away, terrified._

_She's holding Daniel in her arms, rocking his body against her. They have no money, no friends and no resources. He's wounded. He's dying. She begs him not to leave her. He makes her promise to be strong, to never give in to what her mother has done to her – he makes her promise not to give into the hatred._

_She buries him by a stream, and watches the water flow over the rocks. She tastes salt as the tears run down her cheeks. Her fingers glide across her stomach. Holding her wedding band tight within her clenched fist, she crumbles to the ground and lets the pain take her. _

_The elderly widow who finds her lying – feverish and delusional – by the river a few hours later takes mercy on her. She's terribly sick and rambling incessantly, but the old lady is uncommonly kind, even when Regina begs her not to let them find her and the woman recognizes the pregnant girl as the missing betrothed of King Leopold. She takes Regina in, and protects her within her own household, ensuring that no harm will come to the heartbroken teenager._

_Rumplestiltskin comes to see her when she's almost seven months along. He promises to make every dream she's ever had come true, tells her he can teach her what true power is. She asks him if he can bring Daniel back. He tells her no, but he promises so much more than that. She turns from him, disinterested. He looks at the child within her, and she sees emotions play quickly across his face. For a second, she fears for her baby, and wonders if he intends to kill it in order to break her, but then there's another expression – an understanding and almost sad one, perhaps even wistful – and though he seems oddly disgusted with his own weakness, the Dark One surrenders her. He lets her have her life back._

_The last thing she hears him say is something about back to the drawing board._

_The baby is born a month later – she names him Daniel. Once she's able to travel, she goes with the old woman and her sons to a little fishing village far away from Leopold's kingdom – far away from her mother who has never stopped looking for and won't stop until the day Leopold has her executed._

_Time flows like water after that. A few years after Danny is born, she mourns the passing of the woman whose kindness had saved her. She never forgets._

_She humors a few lovers, but never remarries. She misses Daniel every minute of every day, but her son makes her almost ridiculously happy. He makes her feel content. Life goes on. This isn't perfect, but it's more than enough. _

_She hasn't used magic in almost forty years._

Once the images finally stop assaulting her mind, Regina gasps and falls to the cold floor of the cottage, her hand settled over her pounding heart, her eyes wide with shock. "Oh my God," she whispers. "Daniel." She's not sure if she's speaking about her dead lover or her grown son.

The tears come quickly, like a river down her cheeks. She gasps for air, tries to find strength, but all she sees are the visions of another life filling her brain.

She screams. Whether it's from the sudden pain she feels in her head or the agony and heartbreak she feels within her heart, she doesn't know.

All she knows is that a few moments later, she's moving again.

Liquid and once again, colorless.

* * *

There's thick cloying gray smoke filling the air. Electricity, too. For a moment, Emma Swan feels like she's quite literally frozen, unable to move. She stares outwards, looking around the once battlefield. Her eyes drift towards the furious woman encased within the glittering blue fairy dust magic. "Cora," she whispers as she steps towards the woman, her hand outstretched as if to fire again.

"You're not my daughter."

"No, you just tossed your daughter," Emma responds, remembering after a moment that she's still wearing Regina's skin. Well, her glamour at least. She can feel it fading a bit beneath the force of her own magic, and has the sudden absurd thought that maybe she looks like both women at the same time.

She doesn't, thank God.

Hardly matters, though, because Cora knows exactly who she. "Swan," the woman hisses. She might as well have spat out an expletive.

"At your service. And you're done here."

"Silly girl. You must know that this…magic…won't hold me for long."

"It doesn't need to. We have something else for that," Emma answers smugly, a smirk covering her lips. She allows a moment of wondering what this expression looks like upon Regina's false face, but then pushes the thought away. "You're never going to hurt anyone again. Least of all Regina."

"As if you care about her. I'm the only one who ever has."

"Were that true, you wouldn't be standing there unable to attack me."

"She betrayed me," the older woman says, her voice suddenly dull.

"Again. And you deserved nothing better," comes the cold response. Emma turns towards her parents, meaning to ask them what the next step should be – how they'll get Cora from here to the super cage – but she's surprised to see them not nearby. In fact, they're about a hundred yards away, bent over a car.

She tilts her head, frowning, trying to figure out why they're there and not here.

And then she hears her mother scream for help. "Stay," Emma growls, having a strong feeling that the vile woman couldn't go anywhere even if she wanted to.

She doesn't wait for a response – imagines it wouldn't be kind, anyway - and instead turns and races towards where her parents and a small crowd are. She reaches them, places a hand on Snow's shoulder, and then moves inwards.

"What's going on? What –"

She stops when she sees the crumpled over body of the former queen. Regina – who once again looks like herself even if Emma still doesn't - is on the ground next to the shattered car now, on her side. Her shoulder is jutting out strangely, like it's been snapped out of the socket, but that's not what Emma focuses on.

What Emma focuses on – what she can't not see - is all of the blood. Bright red.

Regina's hair is matted with it, and it's streaming down her face, blurring the brunette's features. It's impossible to tell from where Emma is standing where the injury actually is, but it's clear to her that all of the blood is coming from a head wound. She tries to remind herself that the head always bleed badly no matter the severity, but the way her gut clenches, she knows that it's bad.

"Jesus," she whispers, dropping down next to Regina's battered body. Her fingers go to the former queen's neck, and she inhales sharply when she feels an unsteady pulse there. "We need to get her to Whale," Emma announces.

"I'll get my truck," David says softly, because they all know that Regina doesn't have time to wait for an ambulance to arrive, even if it would only take five minutes to do so. He moves away then, running quickly towards his vehicle.

Storybrooke is small, but right now it's not nearly small enough.

"I need something to slow the bleeding," Emma says to her mother, her hand raising up to lightly inspect Regina's scalp for the wound. It's not hard to locate; the gash she finds is raised, torn and terribly horribly bloody. She nods out a quick cursory thanks when Snow presses a dark cloth jacket into her hand.

"How bad is it?" Snow asks quietly, the tone steady, but her eyes turbulent.

"Bad," Emma says simply. She presses the jacket against the bloody wound, hoping for a response – even a gasp of pain – but hears and sees nothing.

"We need to get Cora to the cage," Grumpy announces, acting thoroughly disinterested with the scene playing out in front of him.

Emma looks up at him sharply. "So do it. She's contained."

"By fairy magic."

"Which you know how to handle if I'm not mistaken. So throw her ass in a cart or a car or whatever the hell you want to put her in and move her to the damned cage. Me? I'm going to try to save the life of the person who saved us."

"You mean the person who almost got us all killed again," he corrects.

"Leroy," Snow says softly, meeting his eyes.

"One of these days you'll stop giving her chances to destroy you," the little man growls out before stomping away, off towards Cora's contained form.

"He's right," Snow says.

"What? You want me to just let her die? Is that what you want?"

"Even if I did, would you?"

"No, but do you?"

"No," Snow answers softly. "I've never wanted that for her."

"Good," comes the simple response. Emma leans down, then, close to the unconscious face of the former queen. "Regina," the blonde whispers. "Listen to me, okay? Everything is going to be okay. I need you to hold. Just hold on."

She waits for a response, practically prays for one, but gets nothing.

"You did good," she continues. "Henry would be proud." She's greeted again by silence, so she reassures herself by once again feeling for a pulse.

"Emma!" she hears. She turns, sees David peering out from his truck.

"I need your help," she calls back. "I can't lift her myself." It occurs to her that they probably shouldn't lift her at all; it's clear that Regina has suffered a head injury and her shoulder is dislocated, but what if her spine is hurt, too?

There's no time to be concerned about that, though. If they don't get Regina help immediately, she won't be alive to worry about an injured back.

Emma Swan is a woman of action. She should think more than she does and she should consider the options far more often than she does, but it seems to her that right now isn't the time to try to change her ways. Right now demands action.

So she acts – however foolishly - and waves David over again. "Please."

He's already in motion, however, because he's a lot like she is; action is what he knows and understands better than anything else. He drops down beside her, and though she sees a moment of pause and conflict pass across his handsome features, he's holding Regina's battered form in his arms a moment later.

"What about Cora?" Snow asks, frowning back at the older woman.

Emma glances back at the woman, who is still standing in the middle of the square, frozen by the magic. Grumpy and two of the other dwarves are pacing around them, but neither has made a move to do anything about her.

They clearly don't trust that she actually is contained. And they clearly don't feel comfortable about having to move her themselves.

"You'll make sure she gets to the hospital?" Emma asks with an annoyed sigh.

"Do you doubt me?"

"Never."

And with that, Emma is back across the square, pulling up in front of Cora.

"My daughter is hurt," the woman says simply.

"Yeah, once again thanks to you." She turns her head and watches as Snow folds herself into the back of the truck, clearly sitting next to Regina in the bed.

"Let me help her."

"Not even if it meant her life."

"You'd let her die out of your own selfish pride."

"I'd rather let her die than let you own her for even a minute more."

"That's not your decision to make."

"Maybe not, but thanks to you, she's not able to make the decision for herself, and I have no intention of letting you near her ever again." Emma steps closer. "I know people like you. I was 'parented' by people like you. Never again."

"Poor lost girl," Cora mocks.

"Not anymore." She puts her hand out (gratified to see that the glamour appears to have completely won off, and her hand once again is her own), and another burst of fairy magic (the last of what's within her) sprays outwards, solidifying the ropes around Cora. "And if I have anything to say about it, she won't be, either."

"How noble of a savior you truly are to so arrogantly think that you can save the Evil Queen," Cora laughs. "But you're wasting your team, dear sweet girl. My daughter will always come back to me. Always."

"We'll see about that. Leroy, bring your car around. Let's get her locked up."

"Why don't we just kill her?"

"Because that's not the plan. Get your goddamned truck."

"Fine," he growls, muttering as he walks away.

"You're allowing me to live," Cora states, sounding almost disgusted.

"I'm not like you; I'm not a killer."

"And yet you protect my daughter who is one."

Emma just glares back in response.

"Foolish girl," Cora calls her again. "Your sense of right and wrong will be your undoing. My daughter is every bit like me, and she's as unsalvageable as I am."

"Yeah, well, maybe that's true and maybe it's not. Maybe she can be saved, and maybe she can't be. I'm willing to take the chance. You already told me that love is weakness, why shouldn't my moral compass be as well?" Emma throws back, smiling a bit in relief as Leroy pulls up in his dented rusted out old Civic.

"If you let me live," Cora answers as Dopey and Happy begin to push her into the back seat of the car, both of them scowling at the blue magic that sparks up. "I will eventually escape, and I will kill you if it's the last thing I do."

Emma laughs. "Your daughter threw that line at me, too. And here I am."

"I'm not my daughter,"

"No, you're not."

She slams the door shut, and turns away from the car.

"She's right," Leroy says. "We're all going to pay for your hero complex."

"Perhaps, but as long as I'm the one in charge, we're not executing people just because we can. Understood?"

"Yeah. Understood, sister."

"Good. Now let's get her locked away; I have a hospital to get to."

* * *

Agonizing grinding pain is the first thing that the former queen feels as she's dumped into the new body. Not just in her head – which continues to pound – but in her actual bones. She recognizes the sensation of being struck in the stomach almost immediately. There's anger behind the impact. Fury even.

"Again," she hears. She recognizes the voice, but isn't quite able to place it yet. Her eyes are still sealed shut, and she thinks for a moment that one might even be swollen that way, the thickness around her face rather intense.

"Why don't we just kill her?" a man says, and he, too, is recognizable.

"Because she needs to suffer first. She needs to feel what I feel."

"Snow," another man says. "There's no way to…we need to –"

Regina's eyes (or rather eye) wrenches open, and she stares back into the furious features of the younger brunette woman.

"No!" Snow growls. "She doesn't get to go easy. I want her to beg for death." There's raw fury on her face, tears contorting her features in a mask of rage. "After everything she's done to us, after this, I want her to hurt."

"Honey," David tries again, reaching for his wife.

It's while this is happening that Regina allows herself a moment to take in her surroundings. No longer is she in the little cottage or Emma's bedroom. Now, she's tied up against the wall of a cell. By the look of things, this one is nestled somewhere down deep in the mines beneath Storybrooke. Her hands and feet are bound tight, and there's a shimmering blue force field keeping her in place.

And likely from using magic.

To the side stands Grumpy – Leroy. His fist is bloody, and it's clear to her that it's he that's been striking her repeatedly for the last…however long it's been. A very long while, she thinks bitterly, considering the way her body aches and burns.

"She needs to pay," Snow whispers. "She has to pay."

Regina thinks to ask for what (there are so many things), but there's something oddly horrifying and fascinating about what's occurring here. For so very long, she's wanted to break Snow, and somehow, wherever she is now, it's clear to her that she has finally succeeded in doing exactly that; Snow is shattered.

The question is why.

"There's no way to make her pay for what she's done – she can't even pay enough so we do what we should have done thirty years ago," David insists. "We execute her and we move on –"

"We can't move on!" Snow screams. "We can never move on. She killed Emma."

"I what?" Regina demands. "Emma is dead?"

That's all it takes before Snow is rushing like a furious bull across the cell. "You don't get to say her name. You never get to say her name again," the younger woman screams as she places a hand around the former queen's throat, squeezing tightly. Air is quickly ripped away, and suddenly Regina is gagging.

"Snow," David snaps out, grabbing her arm. "She's baiting you. She's trying to hurt us again. Don't let her do this anymore. Let's finish this. Finish her."

"No. It's our turn to make her hurt now," comes the furious reply. She steps back, then. "I wanted to love you for so very long. I tried to forgive you and hope for us and you kept trying to destroy that love. Well guess what? You finally won. I hate you as much as you hate me, and when I kill you, I'll do it with a song in my heart." She leans close again. "But you're going to beg for death first."

And then she turns on her heels and exits the cell.

"You want me to…you know?" Leroy asks, touching his throat as if to ask if he should strangle Regina once the prince has left the cell.

"No," David answers. He meets Regina's eyes, then. "If I didn't love her as much as I do, if I didn't want to save her soul as much as I do, I'd let her rip you apart piece by piece. I'd even help her do it, but I won't give you that satisfaction. When you die, it's going to be quickly, and then we're all going to forget you."

He shakes his head, meets her eyes once more, and then leaves, Leroy close behind. The door to the cell slams shut, and she's encased in the darkness of the cavern, only the slightest bit of light meeting her wary confused eyes.

Below her, she sees a puddle of water, dirty and murky, but still reflective.

Still revealing. She's only moderately surprised when the images hit her this time.

_Emma's gone long before Henry arrives to try to stop her; she can't face him, can't handle disappointing her son by telling him that she's leaving town and doesn't plan to ever return. She's crying as she drives out of Storybrooke._

_She's halfway back to Boston when her stomach growls loudly. She remembers the turnover, and chuckles out a quiet thank you to Regina. She opens the plastic container, and takes one bite. That's all it takes. A moment later, her car is skidding across the center divide, going head-on into oncoming traffic. Emma's dead upon impact with a red Ford truck. The only upside if there can actually be one is that she'd been unconscious from the moment her teeth closed over the flaky crust of the turnover. She never knows what hit her. Literally._

_A hundred miles away, Regina gasps as the curse breaks. She feels the change in the air, feels the difference of things. And then she sees Emma's final moment play out in her head, as if it were directly beamed to her through a webcam._

_When Snow and David come for her, she tries to defend herself, but she has no magic. Even when the purple cloud rolls through town, she's defenseless. She's beaten down to her knees, and restrained by magic from the Blue Fairy._

_She looks into Snow's eyes, and what she sees there – finally – is hatred. Snow strikes her, and then does it again. The punches and hits fall like raindrops across her skin. She realizes after awhile that it's Snow's tears she feels upon her cheeks, the woman so close to her now that there's no space between them._

"_Why?" Snow demands. "She was leaving town. Why couldn't you let her go?"_

_"Because of Henry," Regina answers back. "He's mine."_

"_He hates you as much as we do," Snow says before striking her again._

_She knows that this is true, but the coldness in her heart – the void that hasn't healed – refuses to allow her to weep for the loss of her son._

_She feels nothing but emptiness and hatred. She stares back at Snow._

_And waits for more pain. _

_She doesn't wait long._

The memories – especially of Emma's grisly death on the highway – slam hard against her mind and body. She exhales, her ribs feeling the force of her pained breathing. Her eyes slide shut, and she wishes for the liquid feeling.

She thinks of Henry – the child that she so desperately loves. There's a nudging in her brain – like another voice, another person – telling her that love is weakness but she forces back the words.

Her body trembling fiercely, she pleads desperately for the color to fall out of this horrible world where she'd both won and lost.

Mercifully, everything – including the colors - fades away a few seconds later.

**TBC…**


End file.
